


Intrepid

by jiokra



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: First Time, Happy Gay Farmers, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marcus broods, Esca broods with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrepid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts).



> Written for Sineala for Fandom_Stocking. Happy holidays and a Happy New Year, Sineala. I hope you like the fic. :)

Night was falling earlier this year, making it difficult to follow the movements of the black dog herding sheep into a wooden pen. Esca sat on the porch of the farmhouse and watched as the dog stalked and rushed the flock. He hoped the sheep would soon be gathered; rain clouds were gathering and a wind was chilling him to the bone. Esca was left to an empty farm ready for him to corner Marcus and pose an inquiry that had been on the tip of his tongue.

Esca found he understood very little of Romans as he became to learn more about Marcus. They were a resilient people, highly resistant to all things Briton unless they were proven to be as good as all things Roman. It exercised Esca’s patience when Marcus was acting infuriatingly Roman. Woolen blankets from renowned Briton farmers were met with suspicion. But if Esca traded chicken eggs for the same woolen blanket and lied to Marcus by saying it came from a Roman in the marketplace, then the blanket was met with a grin and open arms. Nearly a year had gone by before Marcus began to learn Esca’s native language.

“The tongue of a Barbarian is no match for Latin,” Marcus had argued. “Only the greats speak Latin.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Esca had replied. “But where are these greats? And who must you speak with in order to trade our wool and cow’s milk? No one speaks Latin here unless you travel at least a day’s journey on a quick horse.”

It was not until Esca stopped speaking Latin entirely to him that Marcus began to learn.

Esca switched from watching the dog to searching for Marcus, who was out in the field training the dog to herd. The hound was a new pup with a strong working instinct. Marcus camouflaged well against the growing storm clouds. He wore a thick, grey woolen sweater, which was crafted by a Briton farmer, and Marcus had haggled for it by himself in broken Brythonic. Once Esca found him in the field, he felt a spike in his heart. Years had passed since first meeting the Roman, and many months since they embarked a deeper relationship, yet Marcus never lost the ability to make Esca bashful and yearning. It was the same stoic set in Marcus’s shoulder than both infuriated Esca and made him ache. The enigma that was Marcus’s thoughts, both the foreignness of his ideologies and his determination to keep them hidden; it all made Esca eager to be around Marcus — embarrassingly so, since Esca could not recall feeling this way even for the girls from his old village with their long, wavy copper hair that ensnared his better judgment.

Esca rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward, squinting to sharpen his gaze on Marcus. There was no one in the world quite like the man. No one could make Esca trust like Marcus could; no one could make Esca yearn like he could. Esca yearned so much for the man, he would do anything to make him happy. To feel joy. Marcus told him time and again the good Esca brought to his life. Yet, and while Esca had rather not made it habit to doubt him, Esca wondered if Marcus was keeping a secret from him. One that could provide Marcus with even more happiness.

But Marcus was such a private man, Esca could not simply ask. It risked Marcus stiffening up, keeping his thoughts locked away in his head. It had never become apparent until their relationship took on more depth, and this made Esca a little panicked. Perhaps Marcus was not telling the truth. Perhaps Esca did not make him feel happier. Out of fear of frightening the man from revealing his thoughts and of what his secret may be, Esca kept quiet for awhile now. But last night, he realized he could no longer be so weak.

Marcus had slept in the barn last night. For what reason, Esca did not know. They had finished having sex, which Esca had thought was satisfying, when Marcus rose from the bed and left the room without uttering a word. He had not returned all night. It was not until Esca awoke after a brief nap brought on by coming and peeked out the window to see candlelight flickering in the barn did he learn where Marcus had went.

Marcus had not returned to the house that morning. He woke up early to train the dog. Esca had nothing to do today, so he took a seat to watch Marcus with the dog. It was agonizing to be simply watching him. But knowing Marcus, if he was upset, it was best to let him wrestle over his turmoil and approach the man once a sufficient amount of time had passed.

A light mizzle encroached the farm. Across the field, the sheep bumped against one another in a flurry as the hound seized their moment of pandemonium to race forward and nip their heels, waiting for them to scamper off panicked toward the pen. Marcus whistled to the dog — the notes lost in the wind and the rain that soon fell to a _pitter-patter_ on the dirt before Esca’s feet. Storm clouds brought the night quicker than yesterday, and because of the dark, Esca longed to be indoors with Marcus, bickering over who would stir the pot for supper, all the while brushing hands along shoulders, igniting flames inside one another until supper was forgotten and one man dragged the other toward the chair by the fire, neither minding where they rested as long as they smothered the heat building inside them. Sometimes it was Esca, tucking a hand under Marcus’s shirt and tracing the contours of his spine. On other occasions it was Marcus, nipping from Esca’s earlobe down to his collarbone, drawing the blood from his brain straight to his cock.

Last night, it had been Marcus. Without any pretense, he had undone the straps of Esca’s trousers and taken him into his mouth without warning. The surprise had made Esca come quickly — Marcus had never before put him into his mouth; it was evident in the slow, cautious movements of his tongue that Marcus had never even attempted it before that moment, not even to a former lover. His gaze somber, Marcus went in a languid walk to the bedroom. Esca had asked him if he wished to stop or continue on, and in reply, Marcus seemed to awaken. He tore away their clothes and pounced on Esca. Esca had felt like a field mouse that a hawk was intent to devour. Marcus fucked him long and steady that night — no kisses, no murmurings, just carnal thrustings that kept Esca on the edge until he believed he might faint from wanting and waiting. Esca came so strongly, he had been only vaguely aware of Marcus pulling out and leaving the room. At the time, in his foggy mind, he thought that Marcus left to find a rag to use to clean their mess.

The rain was coming down quite heavily now. Marcus switched from training the dog to running toward the sheep’s den, a barn smaller than the main one with the cows, and opened the gate in the pen that would lead the trail for the hound to herd the sheep into the roofed enclosure. After a few nips and barks, the sheep were in the pen and racing toward the den, screaming as the dog tailed them. Then Marcus whistled, and the dog spun around, running off toward the cow’s barn where her supper waited, and leaving Marcus to finish trapping the sheep in the den.

It could have been the trick of watching him long distance, but Esca swore he witnessed Marcus peer over at the house and very quickly look away. Esca shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Silly Roman,” he muttered, and rose to his feet. He made a display of stretching and jogging in place to work the circulation in his legs. It seemed to work. Marcus secured the gate and was soon stalking toward the house.

As he approached, Esca was struck with the realization that he did not know what to say once Marcus was before him. He knew a conversation had to be made. He hated long silences, and Marcus was a champion of keeping quiet for long stretches of time. Esca refused to sleep tonight without talking about last night.

When Marcus arrived, his hair was soaked with rain water, drops running from his fringe down his cheeks. He looked weary. The barn was not the most comfortable place to sleep. Esca wanted to rub away the sleep in his eyes, but settled with simply waving his hand and saying, “Hello.”

“Hello,” said Marcus, greeting him with the ghost of a smile.

Esca elected to stand there and be friendly and welcoming and wait for Marcus to make a move. They held each other’s gaze, despite neither wanting to keep up the charade of silence. Esca felt like he could sprint as fast as the shepherd dog. The air was alive with the energy between them.

“Marcus, what—”

“Let’s go inside.” Marcus swallowed. “And I do not want to have this conversation in Latin,” he said, switching to Brythonic.

Without another word, he marched into the house. Esca watched his retreat, flabbergasted, and then chased after him.

It was warm inside the house. A fire had been flickering and crackling since that afternoon. Bearskins lined the walls, an emblem of Marcus’s first successful hunt of large game, at which he proved to be a natural. Sheared wool piled in a basket next to a spinning wheel. Beside it was a loom, and a recently completed woolen blanket rested on the wooden chair between the two crafts. Marcus swept across the room and paced by their storage chest filled with hunting gear, and peered at one of his old Roman shields given to him after they returned south of the Wall with the lost ninth legion’s golden eagle.

“I apologize for leaving last night,” said Marcus. Esca wanted to look at him, but instead trained his sights on the bear. It felt safer, as if regarding Marcus fully would cause the man to quiet his thoughts and cease speaking. “If I could return to last night, I would speak to you then as I am now, but I hope you to understand I was in no fit condition to do so.”

“No need to feel sorry,” replied Esca.

“No, I was wrong to have left. I just didn’t—” He cut himself off abruptly, and Esca tore away from that bearskin to take in the sight of the man before him. He almost took a step back. Marcus appeared to be on the verge of tears.

Esca stepped toward him, wanting to hold and calm him.

“I didn’t know how to explain my actions, from when we stood right here last night. When I—”

“No, don’t,” said Esca firmly, remembering every pleasurable moment of Marcus down on his knees. “Do not apologize for that. I welcomed it.”

Marcus bit his lip, looking so small. “I shouldn’t have. It opened up something inside me, something despicable, shameful. When you came inside me, I could barely control the thought of you coming in my—”

Once more they fell to silence.

Esca made to speak, but paused, unsure of a reserved way to phrase his thoughts so not to frighten the man into withdrawing. But then he remembered he was not wont to be reserved, and as it was such a prominent character flaw of his, Marcus must have appreciated it at least a little. Peering at the man with a solid stare, Esca asked, “Marcus, did you want me to fuck you?”

“A man does not get fucked,” said Marcus shortly, straightening his shoulders that had sagged minutely. “It is not in the character of a man.”

 _A Roman man, he must mean_ , thought Esca. “You fuck me all the time. Am I not a man?”

“Yes, of course, you are, but —” His eyes turned downcast; he was readying to brood.

Esca grabbed his wrist. “Marcus,” he whispered, loosening his grip on the wrist until it became a caress. He craned his head to catch Marcus’s eye. “My dear Marcus, you need not be ashamed of what you want.”

Marcus pulled his wrist free and fiddled with Esca’s fingers. A storm built in his gaze that only revealed a hint of the thunder and hail that pelted his mind. “Come,” he said, pulling Esca by the hand. “We should sit. I do not think you will like what I have to say. Perhaps sitting in the chair will —”

Esca barked a laugh, regretting it since it made Marcus recoil, yet he let a small smile grow. “When have I ever not listened to you and taken your words in with the respect they deserve? I am as much ready standing as I would be sitting. A cup of broth might help, but — oh, Marcus. The broth bit was a joke. Please, don’t look so glum.”

Cheeks a tinge red, Marcus smiled. But it was short lived and replaced by the thunder of his thoughts. “You will not like it,” he said. “Very well. I — yes, I _do_ want you to — to fuck me.” Marcus sucked in a breath. He was quiet for some time. Only heard was the crackle of wood in the fireplace and the pattering of rain on the field. Yet, somehow, Marcus’s silence was deafening.

“I do want you to fuck me,” he said again. “I’ve — you are not the first man I’ve been with. And not the first man I’ve wanted to fuck me. But I’ve — ” he paused to swallow a knot in his throat. “I suppose it does not matter anymore. I am a cripple now. I will never rise among the ranks of a legion. I never aspired to, but now I never will be able to rise to the rank of senator. I am a farmer, and I now speak more in a barbaric language than in Latin.” He traced his thumb over Esca’s fingers. “Not that I dislike your language,” he added softly. “It is actually exciting to learn, much more invigorating than Greek, and you are easier to spend hours listening to than a crusty old grammar teacher.”

“I hope so.”

Marcus laughed, a rumbling that began deep in his chest.

“I admit that I do not understand what can prevent you from doing what brings you pleasure,” said Esca. “And I suspect this may be a situation I may never understand because it seems to be distinctly Roman, but I personally believe that only the boldest of men could embrace what brings them happiness, _especially_ if it is not up to the status quo.”

Marcus stopped laughing and took on a more stoic countenance. His eyes were fixated on Esca’s lips. “I do not want to be a _cinaedus_.”

“I do not know what that means,” said Esca. “But I can assure you that you won’t become one.”

Esca licked his lips; Marcus watched the movement with the same intense gaze the shepherd trained on the flock. Esca felt his cock twitch. Perhaps Marcus wanted to be fucked, but he still knew how to corner Esca like sheep in a pen.

Marcus huffed softly. “But I already have.”

“Oh?”

“Last night. By the fire. When I sucked your cock.”

Esca’s breath caught, and he was lost in the memory of Marcus’s tongue driving him insane with lust. “ _Cinaedus_ doesn’t seem that bad then, all things considered.”

Marcus closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Esca’s hand. “Esca, will you…”

“Yes,” Esca proclaimed, sharply enough to make Marcus open his eyes. “Yes, I will.”

They stood silently. Marcus stared at Esca’s lips. Esca kept licking them nervously, his skin prickling with adrenaline. Esca tried to listen for the rain outside, for a distant _baah_ from the sheep, but his own hitched breaths and the blood pumping in his ears held him rooted in the room. When Marcus pressed a hand on his lower back, fingers dipping under the waistband of his trousers, Esca jolted. His nerves were so on fire, his skin burned where Marcus touched him. His cock was hard now, and with a quick glance down toward to their feet, he noticed that Marcus was hard, too.

 _Oils, then cock. Oils, then cock_ , Esca chanted to himself. He had never fucked a man, but he had been fucked enough times to learn the importance of adhering to the rules.

Marcus slipped his hand under Esca’s trousers and circled a finger around his opening. Esca blinked rapidly.

“I thought,” started Esca. He cleared his throat. “I thought I was going to fuck you?”

Marcus rested his forehead on Esca’s shoulder and chuckled, sneaking a nip and kiss on the crook of his neck. “Old habits.”

Their next movements happened slowly, carefully, with the deliberate precision of men who had only the sliver of an inkling on what to do. Esca felt out of his element. He had never been with a man in this way. Not only Marcus was new to this. Esca sifted through memory, trying to remember the actions past lovers had done to bring him to his limits. First times were important, he figured, and this one was paramount. He was over-thinking it, he realized, and with cautious steps, led Marcus to the bedroom, focusing his mind so to ignore the hand on his ass Marcus had yet to remove.

Collapsing on the bed, Marcus captured him in a hot, wet kiss. They kissed for the longest time. Mind spinning, Esca tried to piece everything together: the secret Marcus revealed, his sadness about Marcus denying himself pleasure for so many years, the very concept of being the one to penetrate. Ordinarily, it often worked out that his lover took on this role. In his village, it was seen as offering a gift, nothing like the emasculation it was deemed by Rome, and as a chieftan’s son, he was always the one to receive gifts. And then he met Marcus, who took so naturally to it that Esca never thought to question it. He wanted to give this gift to Marcus. He wanted Marcus to feel no guilt. This was nothing like refusing woolen blankets, or crafting excuses in order to delay learning a foreign language. He owed this to Marcus. It was homage to their trust and loyalty.

Undressing Marcus, Esca dragged his nails on the skin of his inner thighs. “Esca,” said Marcus in a whine. It was intimidating. Esca had yet to truly touch the man, yet Marcus was already in the palm of his hand, wanting, anticipating. He applied oils to both their cocks and pumped them — mostly to find more time to process his thoughts, devise a plan. He had a role to play.

They laid there for a small silence. Marcus moaning. Esca ignoring as his ass was massaged roughly by Marcus channeling his growing arousal.

Esca blew softly on Marcus’s nose. “Hey, you,” he said. “Are you sure?”

Marcus stared into Esca — his eyes, dark and intense. He nodded curtly, which was all the response Esca needed.

Marcus turned his back to Esca. Scars were etched on his skin of battles won and lost. Candlelight gave life to the marks, a spear soaring across his shoulders, a chariot dashing along his spine. Esca buried his face on the nape of his neck, and while kissing the scar beneath his lips, hooked a leg over Marcus’s thigh and pressed into his opening — slowly, cautiously, drawing from memory what lovers did that he loved, and hoping Marcus would enjoy it, too.

It was like nothing else. Once his entire cock was inside Marcus, the tightness awoke sensations Esca had never felt before. Were Esca to allow himself to become poetic, he might declare that his soul came alive. Hearing Marcus moan and feeling him withering under his ministrations, Esca bit and kissed his shoulder to prevent him from coming too early. He pushed in and out to the beat of their haggard breaths. He forgot the importance of getting the moment right, and instead got lost in his senses, listening to Marcus’s pathetic moans, hooking his ankle around Marcus’s leg so to keep the man still. He had half a mind to slow once Marcus was reaching a summit, and quickened after his moans began to settle.

“Esca…”

It was like a whimper, and the desperation made Esca light headed.

Esca kissed Marcus’s neck, yet soon bit his lip as he felt that he was about to come.

He refused to come before Marcus did — this night was for Marcus. Yet Esca feared he could not hold out for much longer.

He pumped faster into Marcus, sending the man into a fit. The Roman went wild with moans, his leg quivering, and began to match Esca’s speed. Soon he was beating himself against Esca, gasping whenever Esca pressed into that sweet spot. Esca fought to keep his hold on that leg, which shook fiercely as orgasm overtook Marcus. Esca was fast to grab Marcus’s cock. He wanted the whiteness to smear all over his fingers. It was a symbol.

When Esca came, he kept himself buried inside Marcus and absentmindedly pressed against that maddening area.

“No,” Marcus cried, shaking his head. “Please, no more, it’s too much… I…”

“Shh,” said Esca, his breath tickling Marcus’s ear and sending a shudder through the man’s body. He pulled out of him and rubbed a hand over his ass. “Shh…”

Fog overcame his thoughts, as often happened to Esca after sex. He pressed his forehead to Marcus’s shoulder blades, eyes dropping but not shutting. He relished every shiver that raced through Marcus, was lulled by the gasping breaths escaping from those lips.

 

* * *

 

Esca was startled awake by Marcus turning around. He forced himself to blink and keep his eyes open. Sleep had crept up on him without him realizing. Marcus peered at him, eyes drooping but not quite as much as Esca’s. His palm pressed against Esca’s cheek, the warmth sending fuzz to his brain and making it so difficult to stay awake.

“Go to sleep, my Esca,” said Marcus, smiling crookedly.

Esca mumbled nonsense, too tired to voice a thought yet desperate to know if Marcus had enjoyed himself.

Marcus ran a finger down his nose and flicked the tip. “I said go to sleep, Esca.” Then he enveloped Esca into his arms, and the warmth emanating from his body made Esca’s weary arms and legs go limp.

“You’re too good for me, my sweet Esca,” Marcus whispered, tucking his chin over Esca’s head and breathing him in. “Have I ever told you?”

Esca burrowed into his chest. He mumbled some nonsense.

“No words in any language I know exist that can explain how wonderful you are.”

“Had I known fucking you would make you such a sap, I would have done so long ago,” murmured Esca, glad his smile was hidden as it contradicted the false airs in his words.

“Go to sleep, Esca.”

And so he did.


End file.
